Bliss by Damnation
by discotrucks
Summary: When love binds you, you can not escape it...Even when you know it means another's death.


_**Hi...um, this is kind of crack-ish, but it will never fail to entertain me. I think that makes me weird...But oh well, you win some, you lose some, right? This is basically a one-shot, but I guess if I get enough requests I could extend it... Anywho, I don't own House MD, or Eric Foreman. **_

_**I don't really care if you review or not, but go ahead if you feel the need. **_

_**Um, enjoy!**_

Her fingers twisted and intertwined around his, matching her pulse with his own. He could only stare into her eyes, lost in some form of delusion, because no one could _ever _hold such power over him, not his mother or father or brother. Not any of his previous girlfriends, or his school teachers, or his mentors. He had known her for all of two days, and he could easily have leapt from a redwood if she wanted him to.

They said that love was a fickle thing, didn't they? But they had obviously never been in love, for it was not fickle, but compulsive. Every detail, down to the last _atom_, it had to be right, or such a dangerous chemical combination as love would never work. You would spend your entire lifetime memorizing your loved one's favorite things, the things they hated, the things they feared, trying to get to know them better than you knew _yourself_, because, to be honest, you liked them _better_ than you liked yourself. True, the boggy routes to love were fickle, but never the love itself. Love is a pure, untainted, almost holy thing, but people never treat it like the poison that it is. The poison that will lead you to irrational things, like killing or raping or dismembering people. It will cover you, smother you, replace the very oxygen you breathe, and when it leaves it will leave you cold and empty, a shell of a humanoid being, a monster starved of life.

But love was a beautiful thing, too, he supposed. It could easily bind two souls into one, two opposite ends of the Earth together. Perhaps that was why they had thought the earth was flat- when you were stuck together like that, it didn't matter if the world was round or not, it mattered if the space between your surrogate soul and you was flat or curved. It only mattered if the string that had laced your heart together was within reaching distance, because then, it didn't matter.

Only she wasn't a lace string that had re-sewn his heart. She had slowly dug his heart out, piece by piece, and replaced it with her own. He belonged to her, now. They were one, forever and for always, and he could not deny that. Yet he knew that her love for him would never equal his love for her. Her love was equivalent to the love someone has for a fork. It was a mere extension of the hand, meant to keep your fingers clean, and nothing more. He was simply an extension of her soul, a means to get other hands dirty for her. But he didn't mind. Was that what they had meant when they had said that love is fickle? Perhaps, but he would never know.

They have also said that love is blind, deaf, and dumb. He supposed that saying is true, because he knew that she was using him, only staying around him to have him hurt those she hated for her, but he didn't care. A lot of people hated House; even _he _hated House, one of the people who tried to emulate him. It wouldn't mean much to kill _House_, would it? It would mean that she would be _proud _of him, and the sort of euphoria that that would give him would leave him emotionally overfed until she began to ignore him again…And, if he could get her to hate- no, _loathe_- enough people, then she would keep him, and he would be, metaphorically speaking, the most well-fed man in the world. Nothing would matter, not even the fact that he would soon hold many of his friend's and family's blood on his hands, and it would weigh upon his soul. They say Heaven is eternal bliss. Who can blame him for achieving it?

Maybe love isn't blind, deaf, and dumb. Maybe it's just…oblivious.

Her eyes met his, her lips met his, but her _soul _never met his, because she had scooped it out and thrown it away.

"Can you do this, Eric?" she whispered in the tones that only an angel that had fallen straight to Hell could possess.

He held up the loaded glock, pulled her closer to him, and whispered in her ear, "Yes."

Love would bring someone a funeral today, but it would bring Eric Foreman nothing but bittersweet, eternal, damning, bliss.

_**...Yeah...**_

_**Sorry for that...**_

_**Don't own HOUSE MD or ERIC FOREMAN (excuse me, but OMG PWNAGE)**_

_**Review or whatever, I could care less.**_

_**FutureWriterofAmericaACTIVATE**_


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